


Dirty Diego

by lovinthelads



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:59:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovinthelads/pseuds/lovinthelads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cesc's fantasy is a Dirty Diego.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Diego

Cesc was a happy person by nature Raised by two warm, loving parents, that, despite the divorce, made sure Cesc and his sister never wanted for anything. He was driven miles to football practice every day. He got tearfully sent to London at sixteen with care boxes of bunyols on his doorstep. He had managers who fathered him, teammates to cuddled him, and then a wife too gorgeous for words with two perfect daughters.

Yes, Cesc was happy. He had no reason not to be. Sure, Chelsea’s form had slipped lately, but he knew they’d come back from it. They had the best manager in the world and a team full of superstars.

So if Cesc was so happy, why did he want Diego to fuck him until he cried?

“Fabs, move,” grumbled Pedro, who’d never been a morning person.

Cesc pulled his legs out of the way so his fellow Spaniard could get to his locker. It was nearly time for training and Cesc had been watching Diego put on his boots, Beats in his ears, oblivious to Cesc’s hungry eyes.

They had their first Champion’s League match tomorrow, thankfully at home to a side that by all rights Chelsea should kick the shit out of, but after last weekend’s humiliating loss to Everton, no one was taking anything for granted. Pedro was pulling on a warm-up top against the morning chill, not used to the crisp British mornings yet even though it was only September. January was going to kill him.

“Wrong shirt,” Cesc said as he picked up the Champion’s League warm-up top next to him and offered it to Pedro who was wearing the normal warm-up.

Pedro sighed and dutifully swapped out the shirt as Cesc’s gaze fell back on Diego. Diego was all loud, brash laughter. Full-blooded tackles and mind games that sent opponents into a frenzy.

He surely made love like that.

Pedro sat down with his boots and glanced at Cesc. “Do we have to go to the hotel the night before a night match?”

Cesc glanced at him. “Only if you want to. Some guys do to get some sleep. Daniella moans at me if I’m away more than I have to be.”

Pedro, who never read anything the team handlers sent him even though it was all painstakingly translated into correct Spanish, preferring to just ask Cesc what to do, nodded. “And you can sleep anywhere.”

“I can,” Cesc grinned as he’d once famously fallen asleep at the dinner table in the Barcelona dining room. Insomnia was not one of Cesc’s problems.

No, Cesc’s current problem involved his desires which he needed to just ignore.

Diego go up, stashing his headphones in his locker. He strode past Cesc and Pedro, the latter’s attention on his shoelaces, and…

Winked.

* * * *

A comfortable mid-week win had the team feeling more confident going into the visit of cross-town rivals, Arsenal. Everyone always wanted Cesc to talk about how he felt going up against his former club. Cesc was tired of it. They didn’t want to hear about how Arsenal had been his home, his family, for some of the most important years of his life. But then he’d grown up, his life had taken him back to Barcelona. And then his family had grown. A return to London was necessary for them. But going back to Arsenal wouldn’t have served either parties. Chelsea was the right choice for everyone. But the media wanted him to say something that made him look like a dick. 

The game was a tense one from the start. Never mind Cesc’s presence on the pitch, the former Chelsea keeper, Petr Cech in the opposite goal made everyone on edge. Cesc was jealous of Petr. Arsenal fans had burned Cesc’s shirts. Chelsea fans were singing the name of the enemy's keeper. Would anyone ever love him like that?

Diego was possessed. He went after everything. Every one. The team needed another win, and Diego would get it for them.

“Diego, cálmate.”

But telling Diego to calm down was like waving a red cape in front of a bull. He dove in again and again. Got in the faces of people. Pleaded his innocence. 

And then the incident.

Diego. Stop. No...Diego...Diego WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

And despite Cesc’s professional horror as the events unfolded, in the back of his mind, all he could think about was how ROUGH Diego was. How much Cesc wanted that. 

The team went in at the half, a mass of confused emotions. They were on top, a man up. All they needed was a goal, Jose repeated over and over.

Tactics were discussed, but Cesc couldn’t even think. Diego was sat behind him, leaning in closer than he needed to, focused on words he didn’t even understand, Oscar muttering translations in Portuguese. Breathing on Cesc.

“¿Estás listo?”

It was a growl. An invitation. A dare.

Cesc tripped over his own feet as he left the dressing room, running into Pedro in his haste to get back to the pitch.

Pedro gave him a look, but in that Cesc was always strange, probably didn’t actually question the behavior.

The second half was a blur to Cesc. A goal by Kurt of all people. Chaos. A last minute decider and the Bridge went insane. Cesc couldn’t help but be swept away by all of it.

And Diego was at the center of it. Nothing less than a pantomime villain, easy to spot, easier to hate, always back for more.

“HE’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU.”

Cesc made his way to the dressing room, ducking the media, knowing he’d likely be dragged back out for a comment anyway. Maybe if he got his kit off quickly…

His boots and socks were in a heap as he pulled off his wet shirt. There. No one would interview him in his shorts.

But as he got up to get a bottle of drink, he spotted Diego giving him a look. A hungry look. Cesc nearly fell over himself again as he made for the drinks cooler. Orange...why weren’t there ever enough orange. No one drank the raspberry….ah, in the back. Cesc dug out his preferred beverage and took a long gulp.

But before Cesc could recover his wits, a strong arm grabbed his bicep and he was roughly shoved into Jose’s office.

“Te veo mirándome. ¿Crees que no me doy cuenta?”

“Diego, yo…” Cesc stumbled to protest. But Diego had no time for words. Words were pointless when lips could be put to better uses. Diego crashed his into Cesc’s, kissing the protests away as he kicked shut the door and slammed Cesc against the wall.

Cesc didn’t have many protests to give. It was dirty and wrong and it was everything Cesc wanted at this moment. High off the win, Cesc didn’t even complain as he was roughly spun around, his face shoved against the wall his shorts stripped down. He scratched uselessly at the wall as fingers and then cock invaded his body. 

it was hard, it was rough, and it was every single thing that Cesc imagined it would be. Oh god… oh yes… he grimaced as he gripped his own cock and gave into the assault. Harder, come on Diego….harder…

The guttural roar that Diego uttered when he came across Cesc’s backside would fuel is fantasies for months to come.

God….damn…

It was a long moment before Cesc realized that nothing but the wall was holding him up, and Diego had disappeared. Hastily, Cesc dragged up his shorts across his aching backside before Jose reappeared and wanted to know why Cesc was in his office...naked.

Cesc made it all the way through the shower and out to the player’s lounge without having to meet anyone’s eye. And then as his daughter flew at him, giving him a full body hug, he winced slightly.

A smile played on Daniella’s lips. “Post match celebrations?”

Cesc blushed. “Yeah…”

“Looks like it was fun.”


End file.
